Lament
by Sabreene
Summary: The battle at Ostagar is over, and Alistair finds himself in the Kocari Wilds, mocked by Morrigan as he grieves. For the Alistair prompt on BSN, "There were times Alistair almost wished he'd never left the Chantry". Prequel short, "Caged Freedom" universe


Alistair sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out into the foggy depth of the Korari Wilds. A break in his splintmail pinched at his side, but he had no other clothes, nothing but the thin linens he wore under his armor – and he wasn't going to sit around in those. Not here.

There were times Alistair almost wished he'd never left the Chantry, like the night of his joining, or the first time he faced a darkspawn. He'd even wished it the time he woke up after his first real hangover, the guys thinking it would be funny to make him drink dwarven ale. This wasn't like those times.

A great wash of uncontrollable grief swept over him, a hiccup breaking from his throat as he tried to keep from sobbing. She was watching him, she was always watching him. He could feel her disdain from across the yard even though he sat at the very edge of the woods.

It should've been him out on the battlefield. He was useless here, just as he'd been useless lighting the signal fire. He hadn't even been able to slay the ogre on the roof, the green recruit had done that, a tiny mage from the tower.

If Duncan had gone instead of him, if Duncan had been the one to light the signal fire – it would all be different. Maybe Duncan could've signaled in time, maybe that bastard Loghain wouldn't have abandoned them. At the very least it would be Duncan sitting here now, alive. He would know what to do, how to save Ferelden. Alistair rested his head on his knees, welcoming the pain his broken armor brought. The whole country was doomed because he failed.

"Does it do any good, this sobbing? Does it bring them back?"

Alistair didn't answer, putting one arm over his head as if it could block out the witch's cutting voice.

"I was just wondering, as you seem to do so much of it. Would it make them proud, do you think?"

"Go away," he said, his voice muffled. Just speaking brought back the dark chasm of pain, as if someone had stabbed a knife into his chest and then twisted it down to fillet him open like so much butchered meat.

"I was only curious. I've never seen a grown man cry so much, not even the men mother brought home as they pleaded for their life."

Why did she have to be here? Alistair moved farther away, great wracking sobs shaking his shoulders. Everything was gone. Everyone. He'd let Duncan down. The one person who truly cared and believed in him. It was only because of Duncan that he'd been released from the Chantry and been accepted into the grey wardens. He'd given him a family for the first time in his life. Now they were all dead. He couldn't even search for their bodies or give them a hero's pyre. No, they were out there somewhere, strewn across the tainted ground, rotting. Anguish ripped through him, his imagination playing the scenes of their deaths over and over again.

"Fine, so be it. Mother told me to offer you stew, but you would only sob into it like a helpless little boy. I don't know why she bothered to save you," Morrigan said as she made her way back to the hut.

He couldn't do this, he couldn't be here. The last grey warden. Some laugh that was. The witch was right, Flemeth never should've saved him. He wished she'd left him to die on the roof, he wished he'd never left the Chantry, he wished he'd died fighting along side his fellow wardens. Better that than to be here. Alistair squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears. It was no use. He lay down on the ground and gave in to the aching pain, not caring who heard the sounds of his heaving, keening lament as he poured his grief out onto the forest floor.

"Oh, I can't stand it anymore," Morrigan's disdainful voice came from behind him. "Your little playmate is fine, and already asking intelligent questions instead of wallowing in useless grief. You are not the last one alive. Now will you stop that irritating wailing."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't, just as long as you stop that incessant noise. Though I would suggest you clean your face. Dried rivulets of mud would not be the impression _I _would like to make on the sole companion I had left in the world. But it's your choice."

Alistair wiped at his face, but gave it up as a useless task. Duncan should've left him at the Chantry.

"Alistair?" A voice asked from behind his shoulder. A sweet, warm voice, completely unlike the caustic tones of the witch.

"Auria," he struggled to his feet and hugged the elven mage to him, "You're alive." His breath caught and he nearly started crying again. Morrigan hadn't been lying; he wasn't the only warden left in Ferelden.

Almost, he amended, he almost wished Duncan had left him at the chantry. He set the little mage back down on her feet. He still had family.


End file.
